Fourteen Nights
by redeaths
Summary: The fourteen nights Christine spends in Erik's captivity. The nights of horror, despair and admiration in her own words.
1. Day One

**A/N: I've always wanted to read about those two weeks Christine spend at Erik's house that Leroux never told us about. One thing he points out in his narrative, however, is that Christine wrote while there and wrote exclusively to Raoul. I highly doubt she actually expected these letters to reach Raoul, or if she even knew what would become of those said letters. In the end, Erik apparently has the letters still in his possession and gives them to Daroga. Who knows if Erik ever did read them himself (I like to think he considerately wouldn't) or he ever told Christine he kept them?**

**Anyway while the mystery of those letters and its contents are things to ponder, it doesn't stop me from imagining what they would say. Or what ever _did_ happen in those two weeks of "horror,despair and admiration".**

**I hope you guys enjoy it and a thousand thank yous to Julia,who read this in its crappy stages. You are fine lady.**

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Raoul,

I have made a terrible mistake.. My greatest folly yet.

I am ever so frightened! I am crying, but more out of anger than of fear! I am so angry at myself and at the world. Oh, because what kind of world punishes innocence while allows villainy and trickery to prevail? What kind of loathsome world gives my broken soul a chance to fly only lock me once more in that empty cage I had escaped from? What world! Oh, God, would it be so awful to die?

Forgive me for writing such things. But wait, I hear a noise at the door! Yes I do! No, it must be the wind. Oh, there is no wind down here. How silly of me! My imagination is playing tricks on my poor mind! He wouldn't dare. Oh, God, if you'd seen his face. His face…

Frankly, I do not know what I'm writing. I feel I know even less _why_ I am writing. But I am writing so I must continue. Who knows if this letter will ever reach you, or if you shall ever know of the tragedy that my life has become. My circumstances are so grim, so dark and so terrible it pains me just to write about them, but, oh, I must! After all, in the solitude of this room, who else can I share my feelings of terror with except for a piece of fine parchment, a bottle of ink, and the pretend comfort of a friend?

Oh Raoul, forgive me, I have been a golden fool! It _is_ all a great big lie. There is no Angel of Music. There is no such childish thing! _There's only Erik_. Oh, just writing his name provokes a mixture of great fear and pity in me; you would never understand. He's such a sad creature, but even more loathsome and terrifying! Oh he scares me to death-and yet, I pity him. Oh, how silly it must all sound to you but if I could only explain… Let me quickly explain the events that lead me into this awful labyrinth of a nightmare.

First, I am highly to blame for my current state, I will not deny that. It was I who followed the Voice through the mirror. Yes, Raoul, I! I walked through the mirror, half in a daze, half with a sane disposition. But, alas I did not find the Voice! Instead there was a man, a man dressed in shadows, and he took me down below the cellars, to some corner of darkness and hell. That is where he lives! Beyond the Opera's cellars, beyond the lake, he lives there! He has a house, a house in which I am currently residing. The house isn't as awful as you might imagine. It was covered in flowers, roses and other kind of common flowers you find at markets. It was all for me, I was sure, for I am not foolish enough to pretend men get flowers for themselves. Oh, Raoul, I was so miserable when I began to realize it all. When I saw him kneeling at my side, I _knew_ the reality of the situation. He was no Angel; he was a man! And I cried. I cried so much for my poor, mad self, and for that silly child who still believed in angels and fairies dancing in the fields of the North. I cried for her the most.

Then, he spoke. With his voice half in grief, half in fear, he confessed to me his farce and his folly. Not only was he not an Angel of Music but a man named Erik, who was deeply in love with me! Can you even fathom that? He had the horrible audacity to profess his undying love for me while holding me captive! I was shocked, I was disgusted! I was certain I had fallen into the clutches of a mad man! I told him with a firm voice that he was to let me go if he truly loved me. And of course, he offered to let me go, he would show me the way out! But instead of doing that…he sang, in that voice of his, that angel voice of his, and I stayed. I fell asleep. I write this in shame. How could I do such a thing? In such deadly circumstances, how do such a foolish, irresponsible thing? But I did, Raoul. I did! That was my first mistake. My other much more terrible mistake comes later.

I woke the next morning to a note that said that_ I_ (presumably he believed I had been inclined to stay due to my desire to hear him sing. I believe my host likes to make too many assumptions about my disposition to things and therefore you should disregard him) had showed him my true feelings when I had stayed, and he added that he had many great things prepared for us. Imagine my horror! I was merely a victim underground; living in a golden prison with a man who was also the Phantom of the Opera. Yes, Raoul, my captor was indeed the Opera Ghost, the same entity who condemned Joseph Buquet to an untimely death. But alas, the Ghost was not truly a ghost but a real living man and I feared for my life even more!

I began to pace frantically across the room, cursing myself and banging my head against the wall. It now seems silly to recall it, but I was not well earlier this morning. Waking up in an unknown room with a murderer who has you at his mercy, can you blame me for my frantic state of being?! I suppose you would not, you are a very kind and good friend and would agree with me that the state of the situation would make anyone go mad! Indeed, I was beginning to feel madness crawl all over me. That was the moment my captor returned and brought me gifts.

He was angry to see me unpresentable and said in a way that was ever so alarmingly _normal_ that I was to dress and join him for lunch. Lunch! Dress! And Raoul, he said this in such a polite way that it was almost as if the entirety of the affair was consensual and I had agreed to such an event. That made me so angry! The audacity to come and act as a gentleman when he held me prisoner; I couldn't bear it! I slammed the door in his face as he left and turned to face the extensive selections of dresses he had brought me.

I wish I could tell you I felt guilty over fawning over the dresses but I am not. I picked the loveliest of dresses and tried to pretend none of this was really occurring and that I was actually going somewhere nice. Somewhere with you, perhaps! Oh, I wished my imagination had been more powerful, for I quickly broke down and began sobbing. I attempted to recollect myself by making an empty promise to this fix my awful situation. I had to remain sane to find a way out!

I bathed in such calmness and tried to piece back together the events of last night. I replayed everything over and over in my head looking for something, something that would get me out of this hell. Perhaps he had said something? Maybe in his words I could find an escape clause to this hellish contract of an affair! Alas all my solutions seemed futile because when I came out of my bath I found my eyes lingering on a pair of scissors. I figured I would end my life at once if my aforementioned captor stopped being a gentleman and dared lay a hand on me! You must understand me, Raoul, for in that moment my thoughts could not give any other sense of hope. What else was I to do?

I stepped into the diner with my heart racing and greeted my captor with the same politeness he had bestowed to me earlier. He asked me to sit and brought about food. My appetite was surprisingly still good and I ate well. He did not eat anything but rather sat across the table with an eerie quietness. I, in fear and unease, attempted to make small talk but he would not have it. I have never met a more miserable person in my entire life! He is absolutely dreadful at casual conversation, but I did my best and I did manage to get a few things out of him.

He promised he would only keep me five days and after that I was free to go. This gave me little to no relief but it did lessen the weight in my stomach. In five days I would be far from this tomb and far from him! Although, the thought was not entirely true. My captor had also stated that in those five days I would perhaps learn to appreciate him and I would visit him "from time to time". I confess I still _had_ the intention of visiting him for the sadness in his voice had consumed me with grief. I supposed I would visit him out of pity more than anything. Oh, despite the awfulness of the situation I pitied the poor soul very much. And after all, in some way or another, he was still my Angel of Music and I had not forgotten the power and kindness of the Voice.

He also confessed that he knew how gruesome it was to try to make someone love you in such a place (as I told you before, I suspected he was trying to romance me in his own terrible way) but he stated that one should take opportunities when they arise. I shook my head in disagreement, but he took no notice of it. He hardly looked at me. For someone who claims to be in love with someone as he does, he does not show it. He spent the entire dinner avoiding my gaze, which made me feel more uncomfortable than ever. He finally did something relatively normal and host-like by offering to show me around his house. I agreed but screamed when I touched the hand he offered me.

It was merely his fingers but oh, I can assure you it's not an understatement when I say he was cold as death! And he felt like death, too! His entire being reeked of a presence of death, just his touch itself gave me shivers. The sudden, and careless, display of repulsion made my host quickly apologize. Yet instead of feeling grateful for his sincere apology, I felt guilty for rejecting him such a way. Still, we made way through his house and he offered to show me his room. Now, I understand that under _other_ circumstances that proposition would be most indecent! But you must not think badly of my captor, for I don't think he meant to be taken that way. To be quite honest, I don't know if he even understood how _incredibly indecent_ the proposal could sound. He seems oblivious to such things. Nevertheless, when I stepped in his room…for a moment I was confused and thought it to be an elaborate joke. The place was not a room, but a funeral parlor! It was draped in black with macabre curtains and in the center of it, drawn back red velvet drapes revealed a black coffin. It was his _bed_, he said.

You probably can imagine my horror, friend. Oh, how I tried to hide my disgust and contempt! It was futile, for my host quickly stated that the coffin reminded him of his inevitable death. Despite the morbidity of his words, I admit I regarded the thought as quite noble, even brave. To welcome death, well, that is surely a rare but admirable thing. Most of us spend our lives running away from death but here lies Erik in his black coffin and velvet drapes welcoming death with open arms. It's eerie but it's also very valiant in its own twisted way. I respected him for that, I supposed.

Just then an enormous organ caught my eye. Despite the size of the organ, my eyes fixated on the stack of papers scribbled in ink the color of blood. He noticed where my gaze had drifted and said he did a "little composing". I can hardly call it "little" composing! The organ was almost covered in the papers, and their blood-colored ink made the view no less gruesome. I tilted my head and asked ever so naturally if he would like to play something for me. Instead of making my captor fill with glee at an opportunity to impress me, there was a sudden bitterness in his voice as he stated I must never ask that of him!

Such was the horror in his music, he said, that it would surely rupture my soul and burn my insides. I do believe he was being overdramatic but I did not question him, for the tone in his voice frightened me. He then said that we should sing and that we should sing "opera music". We began a duet. Here is where my second folly comes. It was my most fatal mistake; the mistake that has now cost me my freedom.

I have omitted one thing in my narrative to you, Raoul, and that is that my captor had been masked the whole time. When I had asked to see his face, as proof that his feelings were genuine and his actions were honest, he cried out that I should never see his face. At first I thought it was merely another trick of his to keep me from knowing the true face of the Voice, and now captor. I thought it was a precaution, a gimmick, a formality, a secret! Oh, how terribly wrong I was, Raoul!

Our duet was from Othello and we sang, I as Desdemona and he as Othello in his black mask. As we sang and soared to new heights of passion and despair, the song began to mimic our current situation. I sang just like Desdemona, scared and at the edge of death, and as angry and merciless as Othello. It was a song that drove us to the pits of doom and aroused desire in me. In a sudden madness and with morbid curiosity, just as Desdemona once did, I could not contain myself and had to see the face of my murderer and my captor. Unable to control my hand by will, I tore his mask off and exposed his face.

Oh the horror! The horror! It gives me shivers to write of it, to think of it! There are no words to describe what I saw. His face, it was not a face! He was truly made of death. His face was no more than a skull with sunken eyes and a lipless mouth. He had no nose! He was something made out of nightmares, no monster could ever compare. Oh, and the chilling scream he let out. It was almost inhuman!

I fell to my knees instantly, in horror and despair. But that did not stop him from coming to me! He yelled at me, cursed at me, forcing me to look at his ugly face, pulling my hair in such a way to face him. At the height of the nightmare, he began to laugh maniacally and asked me if I thought he was wearing another mask. Of course, I did not think such a thing, but it did not matter to him. He took my hands and asked, no, he _pleaded_ me to help him take the mask off. He took my hands with his own skeletal ones and made me scratch his face, digging my nails into his horrid flesh. Oh, Raoul, how it sickens me to remember! Me scratching at his cadaverous form while he cried out with glee and finished his frightful laughter by turning it into gut-wrenching sobs. He crawled away as I lay there on the floor, frozen in shock.

I stayed there for a while, no longer crying but shaking with uncontrollable fear. A clear thought came to me: the scissors! I could end our nightmare once and for all! The thought filled me with such relief, I would no longer have to look at the corpse who filled me with terror and who would haunt me forever with words of love! Oh, he had said so himself that he would _never_ leave me! That I had broken my promise when I looked at his face! I would stay by his side an eternity! I did not want that, I would rather die than live with a corpse made of dead who brought about the purest horror in me. And so the scissors were my answer. I rose up and began to race to my room when I heard it.

_It was the sweetest and saddest of music!_ And it was coming from Erik's room! Surely he had turned to his _Don Juan Triumphant_-his musical piece-for comfort. The music filled my soul with something that incredibly obscure and difficult for me to describe. But it had such an effect on me! It took me through despair, hurt, loneliness… I saw him banging his head against the wall, all alone in a world that had never wanted him and could never appreciate him, alone in a room of darkness where his soul and music would remain shut to the world forever! And then the music took a turn. _It was the sound of love_. I have never heard love in music before, but I _knew_ it was love. It had to be! It was if Erik had poured all his feelings into the music and now his emotions echoed powerfully through it. I saw Ugly look at the face of Love! And it was fearless! It was the music's feelings of hope, of triumphant love, of genuine pure soul that evoked in me a sudden strength and shook me to my core. I dared not think of the scissors any longer; instead, despite myself and my better judgment, I went into his room!

I announced with courage that I would not be afraid of him any longer, and that if I ever trembled when I looked at him it would be out of the sincerest respect, not fear! Such brave words they were! Lies! But he believed me for he fell to his knees, crying at my feet and whispering words of love. He kissed the hem of my dress and he did not see how I dared not look at his face. The memory of it brings me to shame. He truly believed I would not fear him. How could I lie to him such a way? It had been the music and I had trusted myself far too much. I was not brave enough to face the living corpse that he was…but he believed me. And in that instant that was enough for both of us.

I finally managed, kindly enough, to tell him to let go of me, for he was still holding onto my legs and weeping. He did as I bid and then I, with pretentious heroism, took his black mask and with a candle from his organ set it on fire. He watched in awe and I fed off of it for I even announced that he should _never_ wear a mask in my presence. Now I curse my words. He only responded with more crying and more crawling by my feet. I thought it would never end until I came up with the excuse I was exhausted and wished to retire to bed. He, in love and childish devotion, said that yes, I should go to bed and he bid me goodnight. But we certainly did not part without him kissing the hem of my dress for the fifth time that night. It made me feel guilty for I was hardly lethargic but I had to get away from him and his wretched face!

I now sit here writing to you incredibly worn out from the horrid events of tonight. I hardly know if this letter will ever reach you. What is to be my fate? How will I face him tomorrow? How will I look at his face and continue my own little farce? Will I stay with him forever, locked up in his tomb of love? I cannot tell, my friend.

For now writing to you, or pretending to write to you, keeps me sane. I miss you dearly, Raoul. I hope and I _pray_ to see you again.

Goodnight,

Christine


	2. Day Two

**A/N: Sorry for taking forever to upload! I promise I haven't forgotten about this and continue to work on it. I'll try to upload at LEAST one chapter a month. I think that's fair, right? But alas do not worry I have no intention of abandoning this fic!**

**I hope the length makes up for the missed time. Also huuuuge shout out to Julia. This chapter was sincerely a mess in the early stages. Thank you!**

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Dear Raoul,

I woke up in the same nightmare.

I was positive I would wake up under different conditions, that somehow everything that had happened in the days before had been a cruel figment of my imagination, but alas, no. I opened my eyes and it revealed my worst fear. I was still here in this wretched room and this same awful bed that condemns me. I feel the walls mock me, Raoul. They scream an eternity of unhappiness and I cannot help to be drowned in their cries.

I tried to go back to sleep in the hope that I would wake up in my bed at home, with Mama in the next room and her sweet voice calling my name! I closed my eyes and sang myself a soft lullaby Papa would sing to me when I had nightmares…perhaps the old song would help wake me from this nightmare. It was futile, for the song did nothing but make me realize what a child I still was and how pathetic I had become. I could not help but get angry. I beat my head against the pillow and screamed my soul into it. I screamed into it until my voice became sobs and my eyes filled with hot tears.

I do not know how long I cried except I eventually told myself to stop. I scolded myself for being so silly—but scolding myself only made me feel cross and I cried more! I felt like such a child! You must think I'm terribly immature but what else could I do? Everything hit me at once. I was merely a prisoner. A prisoner in a gilded cage at a mad man's mercy, oh how I cried!

After minutes passed I attempted to calm down and regain consciousness of my present state of living. I figured I must check the time. After all, the monster had not come to disturb me so I supposed it couldn't be that late. I checked the pocket watch that was given to me just yesterday and indeed it was not too late; the hands only showed a quarter to 9. Although I am used to waking up at earlier hours, the events of yesterday had taken a toll on my regular sleeping pattern and to tell you the truth, I suspected I had awoken even earlier but spent most of the morning crying. How time flies when one is miserable!

I rose from my bed and tried to collect my thoughts. It was oh, so awful to remember that face, those raging eyes and those endless tears, but I had to. I remembered vividly, and painfully, how gave up my freedom when I took his hellish mask off and saw his wretched face.

He had promised five days originally and if I _had_ kept my promise today would have been the second day of the nightmare. But alas the ninny in me had ruined it all when she tore his mask off! How would I _ever_ get back my freedom now? I sighed and repressed the intense urge to cry from inside of me. I needed to be strong and keep sane. I just couldn't afford to go mad! It's all too easy to go mad in such a place where there is no sun, no birds, no windows… Oh, how does air even get in here? There's no wind! Only mad people live under the Earth. My captor is the true testament of that!

I thought hard and told myself I should look at the bright side of things, if there was such. My captor loved me, in his own macabre way, and would not "hurt" me. After all, had he not showed me his intense devotion yesterday, a devotion that nearly kills me with fear, yet still suggests a redeeming side to his strange character? And his actions-although rash and uncivil, have not been in the least way inappropriate and purposefully insinuating, thus proving me that he is indeed a gentleman in some way. Perhaps even an angel had he had not been cursed with such a face! Oh, how I wish I could pity the poor devil more but he's so terrible!

I reconsidered my actions and came to a startling conclusion: because of his passionate love for me I would be bound to him forever! He would not let me leave! He did promise when a woman sees him as I have she does not leave him! Have other women ever seen him? Am I the first who succumbs to this dark fate? I started weeping again and this time I could not stop. I let my mind wander to the scissors once more. They were my closest friends. They could save me from this hell at any time…

_No, Christine! Don't be silly, stop being silly at once!_ I told myself. And I was wise because I listened to myself! I put my mind away from the scissors and decided to rationalize a little. Then it dawned me that the monster had originally promised to release me after five days because he hoped I would come back. And that was where my solution was! I would convince him I would come back! Surely he would let me go if I swore, if I promised on every fiber of my being that I would return! And the trickery of this was that I would not ever return. Ever! I would tell Mama to leave Paris with me; we would head North and I would never see that ugly face and those crying eyes of his. Such a perfect resolution! Such a flawless scheme!

I was just so eager to take this plan in action! I would go outside my room and greet him as nicely as I could and he would see what a good girl I am and how well I can keep my promises. And he would let me go, I know it! If he loved me he would let me go. I was positive his "love" for me would move him to release me.

How wrong I was, Raoul! I write this with incredible shame for how could I have believed this mad scheme would work? Yet, my silly plan did move me in that moment. It encouraged me to get dressed and greet my grim host. I mustered all my strength as I pushed my room's door open for I was truly afraid to see him. Oh, why had I burned his mask? Why had I acted like such a fool?

I stepped lightly into the corridor and hoped I would notice him first. My wish came true for when I peeked into the diner I saw him from behind, and as he turned around to see me I managed to prepare for myself for the sight.

I had honestly hoped his face would have been less ugly than yesterday. That perhaps it all had been an exaggeration on both our parts, but alas it was not. It was just as horrifying as yesterday, only a bit less so because he was not making me claw at his dead flesh. I removed the thoughts quickly from my mind. I sighed yet managed a low 'good morning'. He must have felt the same way for his good morning was also hesitant and he, too, sighed when he saw me. I do not think it was the same sigh, however. I sighed out of horror and he sighed out of love.

"Did you sleep well?" he said.

"Yes, thank you," I said, even though I wanted to scream at him to let me go.

"Are you hungry?"

I nodded. He shook his head in response and gestured me to sit. I sat and he brought me an exquisite breakfast. I do not know where he got it from or if he had cooked it himself. I suppose another person in my situation would be cautious. Perhaps, you, Raoul, would have taken heed…but I trusted him oddly enough. Besides I had had lunch yesterday and it had all turned out fine; it was the insane host who had made the meal go astray…The insane host and the mindless girl, too, of course. We cannot forget that mindless girl who is a ninny when people ask her to not do things. What a mindless girl!

While I cursed myself in my head, I asked him if he would join me for breakfast. He shook his head sadly and left me with my meal. I suspected he disappeared into his room for I heard a door close. And while I was thankful to not have to look at his face while I ate, or have him stare at me awkwardly across the table, I still could not help but feel disappointed at the behavior. I wish he would be normal and eat a meal with me so I wouldn't have to question his insanity half of the time. If he did more normal things perhaps I could tolerate him, even like him! If he didn't act so abnormal then my thoughts wouldn't be always on the edge. Perhaps even this situation wouldn't be so frightening if he _tried _to act decent!

As I ate, I ran the plan over my head and to my surprise, it now all seemed completely delusional. How would I get such a man to convince of my return when I couldn't even play happy to see him? Had I not winced in the tiniest way at his form? I was terrible actress! And yet, perhaps not... I had been terrific yesterday! I believed it was because I was under such distress. Maybe if my host threatened me again, I could show devotion, loyalty and even love. _Have you gone mad, Christine?_ I mused. Devotion? No, I am mad! Loyalty? Perhaps. Love? Oh no, I am madder than Erik even!

I once asked another actress how she played her part so well when a character was starkly different. She said she grasped to the part of the character that was true. Well, if so, how would I play the role of "Christine Daae cares for you and will stay with you and will make no fleeting attempts to escape despite how mad and terrifying you are"? The part that was true was that I did care for him as any good person cares for a stray dog on the street. You feel sorry for the sick thing but you don't take it home. I felt sorry for Erik but I had no intention of ever staying in his palace of doom or returning his wicked love. I thought things over more carefully and realized I had to approach things with some sort of honesty. I pitied him and perhaps my pity towards him could move him to release me. I could be almost kind with him and perhaps that would be enough. He had had no kindness in his life so I supposed the smallest amount of it would be appreciated.

Indeed, those were my thoughts as I heard music coming from the next room. Oh, what wonderful music it was! It was not like the sad, heart-wrenching melodies of yesterday. It was much livelier but still with that sweet melancholic sound that made it irresistible to the ears. I liked it well enough that I felt the need to go inside and compliment the composer. That would be a good start!

I went in without knocking—a bit bold on my part I admit, however I felt we were past cordiality after last night's events. He noticed my presence but much like yesterday, dared not turn around.

"That is some lovely music!" I said trying my hardest to sound cheery.

"You like it? I composed it for you last night," he said without taking his hands off the keys.

_Well, that's not odd at all_. I suppose any regular lover composes you an entire symphony for you overnight. Women are very flattered at those sorts of displays! Take note, Raoul! I talk nonsense but surely you find it cross for a person to stay all night composing! But I wonder, how could I not have heard him last night? I must have been exhausted! And more so of the question, _when did he sleep?_ Then my eyes drifted to coffin-bed and I shivered.

"It's very nice, I like it," I said with a false smile on my face. It was a useless display of deceit because he still did not even look my way.

"That's all that matters," he said.

He suddenly stopped playing and did not say another word. The room grew quiet around us. I felt he wanted to say something but he could not do so. And of course, his wretched face would not even turn to glance at mine which made the situation more eerie. I felt his name at the tip of my tongue when he suddenly spoke.

"Come. Let's sing, Christine."

I gave into his fancy and agreed to sing anything he proposed. He played many different things and most of them were solos. It was mostly me doing all the singing, but I guess after our doomed duet last night, he was cautious about singing together again. As I sang I tried to catch his eyes to see what he was thinking yet it was useless for he still dared not look at me. He had to stop that if he ever wished to be cordial with me. It was annoying enough to live in complete isolation with someone, but more so to be ignored by only person who you had as companionship!

Eventually his reservations fell and he made his way into a duet with me. We did a lovely rendition of _Faust, _as I outdid my already perfected Marguerite. It was not only that the pressure of being on stage was gone, but also the fact that I had such a powerful partner to rely on! Erik was perfect as Faust, even if the role was a little out of his range. He sang so tenderly and so enticingly that I felt romanced in a way I had never been before. Even my previous Faust had not had such an effect on me! I felt Marguerite's hesitance but also her burning desire. I sang to him giving my soul and he sang to me, giving his love. Our affair as Faust and Marguerite was sealed with each note we sang as if we were climbing into new, unexplored realms of passion with them. Had we been on stage our duet would have been one for the ages, I'm sure!

Oh, this must all sound so queer to you, Raoul! Trust me when I say I had not forgotten my predicament. Yet music—oh, music does have quite an effect on people. I believe there is a music so potent, so heartfelt that it takes root in our souls and takes us to the place our dreams. When we reach such musical heights and touch the sky of our being, such music can make us forget the real world—and I had left the real world a long time ago. I was Marguerite with her hopes, her innocence and her love. And I had my Faust and our love was perfect and pure. My world was just as bright as the Opera itself. The pain of the past was wiped away and it was just like I only existed then and there, and I had no desire to leave this world. Yet it was Erik who forced me to leave it as he abruptly stopped playing to ask me if I was hungry.

I was so agitated when the music subsided that I felt my balance fail me. I took a step back and came to terms with my surroundings. The whole enchantment of the room was gone, it now was merely a funeral parlor and my Faust was no prince, but the ugliest of men. Being acquainted with Erik's face again, for his face had been a blur in between the music, provoked such a sudden disgust in me that I quickly had to look somewhere else. I pulled out my pocket watch to check the time and I was surprised to see where the hands stood now. It was six in the evening! Where had the time gone? It seems I had breakfast only an hour ago and now it was night time! How could this be? I was confused for I swore we had only sung a few songs. Yet the entire day had passed by us as we had been locked in this room!

How odd it felt to have wasted an entire day on music and feel no effects of exhaustion whatsoever. In fact, I felt invigorated and well-rested. I even felt as if I could sing forever if I was allowed. Erik must have noticed me drift away, for he repeated the same question. His concern made much more sense given the time; I had breakfast hours ago and my stomach suddenly began to remind me of that. I nodded eagerly in response as I was struck with inexplicable hunger. He understood for he quickly rose and led me into the diner where once again set a fine lunch, or supper, out for me.

I hoped he would stay and join in me, in fact, I was counting on it. Had he not too been in the room all evening without food? Was he not starving now? Did he even eat? My questions were more or so answered for he merely sat on his usual opposite side of the table, which I found incredibly unnerving, and touched nothing.

"Are you not hungry?" I asked.

"I do not need to eat as often as you," he said.

"_Do_ you eat?"

"I do."

"But I never see you eat."

"Why should I submit you to such imagery?"

I shook my head in dismay and tried to concentrate on the food. Despite my voracious appetite something else was gnawing on my mind: my release! The evening of music had softened the nerves of the morning and I felt a sudden courage in my voice as I spoke.

"Erik, I enjoy singing with you very much," I began.

I had to start somewhere and I had told myself staying on his good side was the only way to go if I was to be freed. I would woo him with my kind words and he would let me go! Oh, even you see the silliness of my plan, Raoul. What a fool I was!

"I enjoyed singing with you this morning—"

Erik shook his head as he was to say something but he did not. I continued.

"I enjoyed it so much that day turned into night," I said with a nervous chuckle.

His hesitant gaze made it worse for it seemed he did not wish to be in my presence.

"I enjoy your company, Erik. Really, I do!"

"You do?" he said suddenly.

"Of course, I do. How could I not? You're a wonderful composer and an extraordinary singer. It's just such an honor to sing with you, to simply be in your presence, of course."

He finally looked at me and I flinched when his sunken eyes met mine. Oh, how ugly he was! I did not long for his gaze any more. I stared down at my food and focused on cutting the tender steak I had in front of me. I had to do something with my hands or else they would start shaking badly.

"I-I love your company. It's just that-I wish I could do _this_ more often!"

"Do what?"

"Do this! Supper with you! I enjoy talking to you. You really are—"

My steak would not give to be cut. I had underestimated its tenderness and my ability to lie.

"—Wonderful," I sighed inexplicably.

"You think so highly of Erik?" he inquired.

"Of course! But as wonderful as you are, oh, you must let me appreciate you! Many people take things for granted. Lovers, for example, if they are with each other all the time, they grow sick and restless of each other. Even good friends do so! So why should you and I be the exception?"

I smiled at him and he only looked at me quizzically. I do not know if he believed of a word I was saying but I saw in his face he _wanted_ to believe. And that was enough to continue with my false praise.

"So—I thought that maybe perhaps I should come often to visit you. I would come _very_ often to visit you, yes! Twice or thrice the week! Maybe even five days a week! I could stay weekends with you if you so pleased. I would stay with you as long as you needed me and I would always return—"

"Christine is not leaving."

There was anxiety in his voice.

"Of course not, not for long, at least! I would be back in three days, two days at the most! In those two days, or three, I would miss you. Oh, I would miss you terribly. And you would miss me, of course! And when I would come back we would miss each other so much we'd be delighted to be in each other's company. Oh, it would be so wonderful to see each other after such a short absence! Can't you see, Erik? I would be ecstatic to return to you _after_ missing you. And I can only miss you when you're away from me, can't I?"

"You would miss me?"

The heartache in his voice tore at me. How could he be so foolish to believe all my silly lies? Even _I_ didn't believe them.

"Yes, I would. But you _must_ allow me to leave so I can miss you. It's the only way."

I paused and I looked at him without fear for the first time in the night. I pleaded him with my eyes. I was truly offering him my soul in exchange for just a little bit of freedom.

"Please," I begged.

And he looked at me. He looked at me so longingly it made me feel incredibly cross. I felt his gaze should go somewhere else, for it felt improper to stare at me in such a way. And his gaze did leave me.

His eyes fell to the floor as he softly said, "No."

My heart shattered and so did the invisible wall that was holding back my tears.

"_No?_" I choked. "Please don't say that!"

"You will leave me and never return! I'm not blind Christine, you fear me! You hate me! You would _never_ return to Erik," he said painfully.

"I would always return to you," I lied.

"No, you would not! Who would? Oh, Christine, you foolish girl, you brought it upon yourself. To stare at Erik's face, it was your madness that now imprisons you…not I."

"It is _you_!" I sneered suddenly. "You! You!"

I rose from my seat so quickly that he jerked away in surprise. I even scared myself as my words were full of anger. But I spoke the truth!

"_You_ are the one keeping me locked here, no one else! _You _are the one who won't let me go free! It is you who have imprisoned me to your madness. To this hell where there is no wind or birds or sunlight. You have caged me!"

I began to cry profusely in spite of myself.

"You are a wicked man! I offered you my soul and you imprisoned it! What kind of person does that? Only the wicked do that! You are so wicked! I hate you!"

He flinched as if the words cut him.

"I am not wicked, Christine. I swear to you, love me and you would only see—"

"I do not wish to see and I do not wish to love you! Please, let me go. Please, oh, please! I am frightened. Every night shall be a nightmare under here. I shall be very unhappy and I shall make you unhappy. Do you wish both of us unhappiness? _Please, Erik, please_."

Thick tears were streaming down my face and they would not subside.

"Please don't cry, dear Christine," he said achingly.

"I will stop if you promise to let me go. You have the power to do that. Please!" I begged.

"I cannot do that."

I collapsed into my chair and began to sob desperately.

"Oh, Christine, please stop that. I cannot bear to see you cry! I cannot let you go! Don't you understand, you silly girl?"

I ignored him and continued my anxious sobs when he suddenly rose, too, from his seat. His voice got dark and terrible. There was a sudden wildness in him which reminded me horribly of last night. But I did not fear him! It was anger I felt not fear! I dared not look at him and focused on the floor for I wished to be his presence no longer. Yet he spoke regardless.

"_I love you._ If I let you go you would never return to me and I would be so unhappy. All my life I've been unhappy, Christine, but I rather be unhappy _with _you! I can't explain why. Erik loves you so. He can't bear to be away from you. I don't want to be without you! You're here and you have seen me! You have to stay. You _must_ stay!"

Words cannot express how I loathed him and his phony pledge of love in that moment. His words were empty and reminded me how he had tricked me and stolen my freedom. I would not look at him for he deserved nothing less.

"Christine, Erik cannot let you go. Christine shall stay here forever."

He let out such a dramatic sigh that I could not help roll my eyes, yet my face remained down so he did not see. My silence bothered him, for I might have heard him let out a cry but left in such a frenzy which made it impossible to tell. I heard a door slam shut and I knew he was gone for good.

The words tore at me!_ Forever_. I pushed my unfinished plate in frustration and threw my head on the table. I wept at my leisure for I felt I had _forever_ to weep.

I did not know where Erik left to but as I began to hear music I knew at once he was composing again. After all, that's all he knew how to do besides terribly upset me. The music was loud and so bitter, his feelings mimicked mine perfectly. Yet hearing it made me feel wretched. Would I suffer this awful yet entrancing music for the rest of my life?

Eventually I dragged myself away from the table and went to my room. I plummeted onto the bed where I cried until I had no tears left. I then gathered the strength to write this letter. It's so soothing to write in a miserable time like this. If this letter ever reaches you, you shall see the ink has been smeared by my clumsy tears. I am sorry.

And yet his music continues and he will not stop. Oh, he does not eat or sleep, all he does is play! He will play all night, I can't bear it! How can I sleep with such dreadful music bouncing on my walls? My head aches from hearing such a repetitive and ghastly score! It plays in my head now as I write, oh, it is absolute torture!

Oh, Raoul, I do not know what I was thinking. Erik will never let me go. He is wicked even though he loves me. He is wicked and I cannot pity such a man.

I am tired and my head hurts too much to concentrate on my writing. Forgive me for my horrendous penmanship. I must try to rest, Raoul. Forgive me for not finishing this letter…

Christine


	3. Day Three

**A/N: First, wooooow thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! It feels so nice to read them and moreover that people care about this story. It makes me very happy indeed! And yes as I promised (although quite late), a chapter update every month :) **

**Oh, another note this work and all my other works are available on ao3 (under redeaths as well) so stop there if you like.**

**I hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

Raoul,

Today was just as miserable as yesterday, yet stranger somehow.

I woke up in the same room and cried much the same. Like yesterday, I tried to fall asleep in hopes I would wake up back home, and it was once again utterly useless. I, then, bitterly sat up and began to recall the heated exchange from yesterday. My captor's cruel words rang in my head and I began to weep. _"Christine will stay here forever."_ No, no, no! How could God allow such a thing to befall on me? My tears were heavy with heartache. Yet, now it was not sadness I felt but frustration.

I refused to get out of bed or do anything productive, I was tired. I was tired in body and soul. I was tired of everything, Raoul. I sobbed until my head began to ache and eventually gave into sleep. I was indeed lethargic for I had gotten little to no sleep the previous night. It had been that infernal music and that demon of a man that would not stop playing it that had scared away my sleep. But now it was morning and the house was quiet. Perhaps I could rest. It was a pleasant slumber till I woke to the sound of a knock on my door.

"Who is it?" I jerked.

I laugh now that I recall asking such thing. For who else would it had been? Only him! He and I forever, just like he promised.

"Christine, are you awake?" the voice came from behind the door. It was hesitant and annoyed me to the core of my being simply because it was _his_ voice!

"No, I am asleep." I answered.

He took no slight at the remark, which only angered me more, and spoke again.

"Would you like to join me for breakfast? It _is_ past breakfast but we can still have breakfast if you want."

"No," I said, "I am tired. Please leave."

"Are you sick?"

"No. Go away, Erik."

I heard him lean at the door and I prayed he would not dare open it. I did not fear for my safety but rather for his, for I was certain I would strangle him if he dared place a foot in my room.

"You are ill. I shall let you rest."

As his footsteps echoed away, I threw my pillow at the door. How I hated him! His concern for me sickened me. How dare he pretend to be a friend when he keeps me locked in this tomb! If I was to fall ill anytime soon it would certainly be his fault. Only he makes me so ill!

I grunted and tossed around in my bed. I eventually fell asleep again much to my surprise. Yet I was awoken once more by Erik's passionate knocking at my door.

"Christine, you must wake up! It's four in the evening. You simply cannot sleep all day!"

How his voice made my head ache! And if I'm honest, Raoul, perhaps my head ached entirely on its own but I certainly I attributed it to him! I moaned and stretched as I sat up. I wanted to stay in bed all day; I didn't want to leave my bed for as long as I was confined to this place. I had no desire to walk around the house that was my jail and much less muster energy to deal with the mad man who dwelt behind my door. I told him with a tired voice that I was exhausted and he should leave so I may rest, but he would not have it.

"Even if you are sick, Christine, you must eat. Are you hungry?"

Hungry! All he ever asks is if I am hungry! Does he not have any other conversational piece? I felt like merely an exotic pet he kept coming back to check to see if it's being well-fed. You must understand my anger right there, Raoul, he was getting on every last bit of my nerves.

"No, I am not hungry. Please leave."

"Christine, even if you are not hungry you must still eat! If you are sick I shall bring you soup. You do not have to worn yourself by standing, I can bring it to your room—"

"No! You shall not! I do not wish you enter my chambers at any moment! I like my privacy! Leave me alone."

"Christine, but if you are sick and you do not eat, you could get terribly ill. I do not wish you to get ill. Erik does not wish anything bad to befall on you! He will not enter out of respect but he shall not leave this door until you agree to eat!"

Oh, how I could have strangled him in that very moment! His moving gesture was just another way of mocking my current situation. He was the one who was holding captive my happiness and perhaps my health. Him! If he_ truly_ wishes nothing bad to befall on me, perhaps he should remove himself from my presence. I am positive he has the most insidious effects on me.

I grunted and threw my hands into the air in defiance of destiny. Why had God allowed such a mad man to fall in love with me and why had he allowed him to kidnap me? I am a good catholic, Raoul. I believe God has higher plans for all of us but I could not see his plan there and then. I still can't.

Yet I had to do something about Erik, his lavish attentions would only increment if I gave him an actual sign that I was in bad health. I stood up, put on a robe, for I refused to get dressed to be in the presence of such horrible human being, and thrust the door open.

When I opened the door, I almost made Erik, who had been leaning on the door, fall. In truth, I was disappointed for I had wished the door had the ability to open outward so I could have hit him with it when I thrust it open. Alas wishful thinking! He looked at me in awe and it was either because of my current state of robes and unpresentable hair or simply because he idolized me, I cared less.

"Alright, I shall eat," I said.

"But, Christine, you must get dressed. You cannot be in robes all day!"

"Why?" I asked tiredly.

"It's improper."

"Improper to whom?"

"What a silly question! It simply _is_ improper. It's bad manners."

"And you know bad manners, I assume?"

I, then, walked ahead of him and made my way into the diner where I dropped myself into the chair. I said nothing and simply crossed my arms.

"Would you care for soup?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, yes, why not!"

He brought the soup for apparently he did not catch my sarcasm. Although I was too prideful to confess I was starving, I was not mad enough to reject food. Of course, he did not eat. But only stared at me eat from his other side of the table. Oh such a disturbing hobby of his!

While I quietly sipped my soup and ignored his penetrative gaze, he spoke.

"Are you upset with Erik?"

My spoon fell from my grasp and made a loud clank on the bowl. Is he not the most infuriating person in the world or is it just me, Raoul? I even had to hold on to the table for I felt myself shaking with rage.

"No, why would you say _that_, Erik?"

"Christine, you're shaking! Are you sure you're not ill?"

"Oh, I'm sure! But tell me Erik why would I_ ever_ be upset with you?"

"I do not know, you are so odd today. You do not eat! You sleep too much but you are not ill! It makes no sense. So perhaps, you are acting this way because you are upset. Perhaps you are angry with Erik. Are you angry with me?"

"No, why would I be?"

"Because I told you cannot leave."

I laughed.

"Oh, _that_. I had completely forgotten all about that! Frankly I have no time to think of such things! I am incredibly busy locked in my room all day, scared out of my poor mind, hearing you play that god awful music all night… it really makes the time fly by! With such lovely hobbies, I am too busy to even _think_ about leaving, much less my sanity. I have even misplaced my sanity, I'm afraid! For look how I am laughing! You must think I'm mad! Well perhaps your madness is contagious! Oh, Erik, yes! I _am_ sick and _you_ have made me sick. Oh, I wished you have brought me wine instead of water for I'd love to toast to you! Cheers to you and to me! To our unhappiness! _And how unhappy we shall be_!"

I raised my glass of water and sipped on it pretending it was wine. Erik seemed disturbed and maybe you are too, Raoul. But, oh, I had truly reached my tipping point. I was drained and had no energy to continue hiding my anger. I was done being kind and playing games of goodness in order to get out of Erik's confinement, for it was useless, he was cruel and he would never let me go. I was simply beginning to embrace the hell of my grim future. For what else could I do? I could not even cry about it anymore, my misery was just there. And I was accepting it.

"Christine, you are mad," he said.

"Yes, I am mad."

"I am sorry, my dear girl."

"Sorry? No, I_ am_ sorry. I am so sorry for myself."

"Christine, I know you miss your home, your family, I am not blind to that…"

_My home._ I had no home. My father had been my home and when he died I became homeless in soul and spirit. I have never had a home ever since, even Mama's home is not—Mama! I had forgotten completely about Mama! In my terrible predicament the thought of my poor, fragile Mama had slipped my mind. What an idiot I had been! I began to think about her and her intense and very plausible concern.

_She must be terribly worried about me. Oh, she hasn't seen me in two nights! And no one in the Opera house knows where I am. Oh, that poor thing fretting herself! Fretting her weak heart!_ I thought to myself.

See, you do not know my Mama well, Raoul, but I assure you she is a kind and resilient woman. She is strong, she has always been strong for me and she has taught me to be strong myself. If only her health matched her unbreakable spirit! She is sick, Raoul, very sick. Her heart is weak and requires her to have little to no excitement. I've been a good girl for the most part and have never caused her unnecessary trouble or worry, but now… Oh, my mind began to go to dark places. I saw her worried sick at the edge of her bed, perhaps even at the edge of her death. I saw her delirious, crying out my name and agonizing in pain. I saw her, Raoul, and then I saw my father. I saw my sweet father in his coffin, all dead and cold. I saw them both and the images began to overlap. I saw Mama in that same coffin, with cold hands and eyes shut forever! I had killed her! She had been so worried about me because she had never heard from me again take the poor thing had fretted her heart to death! I could not bear it, I had to do something!

I burst out in sudden tears and ran towards where Erik sat. I kneeled on the floor and crawled before him with only one thing on my mind: he had to let me write to Mama and let her know I was fine! In my desperation, I grabbed for his arm only to have him yank it away violently as if I carried the plague with me.

"Silly child! Are you sure you're not ill?" he said catching his breathe.

I only cried more.

"No, no, I'm not! It's my Mama who is ill! My poor Mama! She's going to die, I know it!"

"What ever is the matter with you? How are you certain she is going to die? You can't predict things like that!" he said angrily. I suspect he was angry at my tears. I've noticed, Raoul, he becomes stressed when he witnesses me crying. It must be quite uncomfortable for him when it is he who causes most of my tears.

"Oh, I know it! Her heart is ill. Her heart is weak and cannot contain the smallest of excitements! The physician told me, she had to rest and not have such fancy diversions for it could be dangerous to health. He told me I should be a good daughter to her and behave. I told him I was a good daughter and I would never cause her to strain her poor, kind heart. And yet—oh I am a wretched thing and now she will die because of me! I have been gone for two nights! No one knows a thing about me or where I am! She will ask people where I am and they won't know! And she will worry herself sick and I won't be able to console her and she will strain her weak heart and she will… Oh, I'm such an awful daughter!"

My sobs became unbearable and an expression of anguish came to Erik's disfigured face.

"Oh, Christine, do not worry so much! You'll make yourself sick instead of her!"

"It does not matter if I get sick if she's dead! I love her so and oh, my god, Erik she's going to die unless I do something! You must do something. Let me write to her. Please, I beg of you! She needs to know I'm safe and nothing has happened. I'll say I'm safe with you, the Angel of Music, that's it! She'll believe me, I'm sure! She's innocent as a lamb and believes in only the good of this world, as I once did. She will believe any lie I tell her! But these will be kind lies for they will spare her the pain of the truth. Please let me write to her! It's a matter of life or death, please!"

I fell to his knees, pleading him, begging him. He only squirmed in return. When I was about to give up his eyes suddenly filled with sadness and he spoke.

"Of course, you may. I could not forbid you such a thing."

"Thank you!" I cried

"But be warned Christine, do not tell her your whereabouts. It could be dangerous for her, for you, even…"

To tell you the truth, Raoul, I had never intended to tell her my situation. I rather live a miserable eternity with Erik than cause my Mama the heartache of knowing I was suffering. I love her too much to ever let that happen to her.

Erik stood up from his chair which prompted me to rise from the ground I had been kneeling on.

"You do bring an interesting point, Christine. Too many people are asking about you. The lousy management and _other inquisitive companions_, for example, might inquire about your return. I must let them know you are safe and in good company. We don't want them to start buzzing about. After all, I haveenough people snooping around as it is! I shall write to them without delay tomorrow morning. As for you, Christine, you write to your Mama and let her know whatever will put her mind at peace. I will take care of both letters tomorrow."

His word was final and I was a bit more willing when he assured me he would not read over my letter. He said he trusted I had learned my lesson about going against his wishes and believed my own moral convictions would restrain me from committing such a folly. Indeed, I was not stupid enough to put both my Mama and I at risk so I obeyed. Besides, the feeling of writing to her was overwhelming on its own.

Oh, don't think I don't enjoy writing to you in pretend, Raoul! But you are no match for a real, living person reading over my words. Just the thought of her reading my thoughts and sharing my sentiments filled my soul with sweet happiness. I had missed that feeling—happiness. I do not think I shall ever feel it again.

Erik promised me he would get me adequate paper and ink to write with. Before I could protest that I already had the necessary materials in my room he scurried away to find them. I sighed and went into my room to grab left over ink and other elemental writing utensils. This was when Erik walked into my room for I had left the door opened much to my distress. Oh, Raoul, why do I make a constant mistake after another?

He was very excitable when he came in, his hands were full with silk parchments and a bottle of full ink. I assume he does not engage in similar projects with other people and the idea of helping someone write a letter was, well, exhilarating.

"I think this will suffice for you! I normally allow red ink for my personal use, but for you I shall make an exception!"

He was carefully balancing two ink bottles his arms. I peered over the bottle that held the red ink; the murky color looked much like blood. I frowned, whether it was at the disturbing color or having his presence in my room, it was hard to tell.

"You can use red if it serves you better! Or black if you prefer it, too. I have some left over—"

At once Erik deliberately dropped the items. The red bottle rolled and spilled open, covering my carpet with _blood_. I panicked and rushed to scoop the red ink. It was obviously useless and I only stained my hands red in the process. The ink was everywhere and the color made me nauseous.

"Erik, what have you done?" I exclaimed.

Erik did not reply but merely stood there entranced by some corner of my room. His eyes were fixated.

"What do you have there, dear Christine?" he asked.

I followed his gaze. It led to my desk which held the letters I had written to you. They were in plain sight.

I froze in fear as I realized the horror I had committed. What a ninny I had been! Why I had I not tucked them away? To makes matter worst, I could not bear to move and go cover them! My body had simply stopped responding to my brain. I merely stood there kneeling with a bottle of red ink in my hands, as I tried to keep the heart in my chest from bursting out of my body!

"Nothing," I stuttered.

"Nothing? Papers are usually not _nothing_. Why even air is something! For papers to be nothing, or should I say _letters._ Yes, for letters to be _nothing_… that would be very illogical wouldn't it? Then certainly those letters must be something. Don't you agree?"

"They're nothing because they are scribbles! Scribbles are _nothing_! I only wrote my thoughts and other silly things down. It's absolutely nothing."

He looked at me with a dark amusement that frightened me terribly. It was the same shrill feeling of complete madness that echoed his actions of that night when I tore his mask off.

"Absolutely nothing!" he said in a high-pitched tone that imitated my own voice. "Well it looks more than just silly scribbles to me. It even has a name…"

"I write to myself, sir!"

"Well, what a queer thing to do! To write to yourself, and to address yourself as Raoul. Very peculiar indeed!" he sniggered.

I wanted to cry when I saw your name was written neatly on the top of the paper. Why had I done such a foolish thing? I am the dullest girl in the world!

"It's not what you think—"

"But tell me Christine, what do _I_ think? What am_ I_ supposed to be thinking?" he inquired.

"I don't know, I just—"

"You don't know?! But you just said '_It's not what you think!_' and implied you knew what Erik was thinking. But Erik asks you to tell him what he is thinking and you cannot answer. So therefore you do not know what I'm thinking and that makes you a liar. Why lie to me when I'm very honest with you?"

"I'm not lying!" I growled as I stood up. I felt my temper flaring. No one wishes to be accused of being a liar especially when one is innocent of such thing.

"But you are! And that makes you more of a liar! You are a deceitful woman! Writing behind my back to your lover and promising to stay here. What a deceitful, cunning little liar you are!"

"I am no such thing, sir!" I said as I pushed the dripping bottle of red ink into his hands. The ink penetrated his clothes much to my satisfaction. He took no interest in the blood-color on his vest for his eyes only fixated on me. I continued my defense.

"I do not lie. I do not deceive. I am no more cunning than the average person! And if we speak of liars and deceits, I must say you win it all. Have you forgotten how you lured me here and how I fell into your claws? Have you? Because I have not! Yet you stand here and accuse me of these same things you perpetrated, you, you—hypocrite!"

He was perplexed at my fierce response yet he quickly fired back.

"That matters very little for you are still a liar! To lie to me and hide your secret letter affairs, you are-heinous. I am disgusted at your vile behavior. You were going to write to your Raoul and ask him to save you from evil Erik's clutches, weren't you? Even when you promised to stay! What a deceitful woman you are!"

"Deceitful? Well pardon me, sir, but how would I go about mailing such letters? Because yes I do not deny it, _they are letters_. Yet they are letters I never intended to mail for there is no way to do so."

"You liar! Erik knows you were going to mail them! I know it!"

"Well, tell me how I would go about mailing them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Explain to me how I would go about doing such thing. You seem to know everything that I do or don't intend to do."

"Well, I… I don't know!"

"You don't know? Why you just said that you knew I was going to mail them, therefore you confessed you were aware of a plan to mail them. Yet I ask you and you say you do not know. To say you know something but to admit you do not know it, that is a very illogical thing isn't it?"

"Stop these silly questions, Christine!"

"Oh, well you don't like when someone plays silly mind games on you, don't you? It's not so pleasant now isn't it? Perhaps if you treated me with the same consideration we would reach a level of civil understanding."

He suddenly stomped his feet as a child who gets frustrated when he loses at a game.

"You're infuriating," he mumbled.

I was about to respond when I saw him approach the desk. His hands lingering on the desk and his finger tips almost touching the letter…

"Don't! Please don't!" I pleaded.

"Why wouldn't I? If you have nothing to hide and since you say you are not a deceitful woman…"

"No, it's private and personal! It is not right to read letters that are not written to you. Those belong to me and the person I wrote them to. It's not correct—"

"Erik cares less if it's 'correct'! You have nothing to hide so why shouldn't he read them?"

"Because they're personal!" I cried out.

I was at the verge of tears, those letters were truly dear to me. Although I love you Raoul, it was not simply because I wrote them to you that they held a place in my heart. The letters were in truth the only thing keeping me sane in the madness that my life had become. I held on to them as if they were my last little piece of hope.

Yet he would not hear my cries for his hands grasped the paper.

"I'll hate you if you read them!" I warned.

He scoffed at this.

"Hate Erik? You are already hate me enough! As if this would make any difference! You already made up your mind to loathe him simply because he is ugly and he loves you so. It makes little to no difference what he does, you hate him."

"I do not hate you." I said despite myself. And it was true, I did not hate this poor, pathetic human. He was wretched and he could be cruel but I did not hate him. He was quizzical at my answer for he did not only drop the paper but turned around to face me.

"I do not hate you, Erik. Although in truth, I cannot say I like you for I can barely tolerate you. But could you blame me? You make yourself intolerable! Lying to me and accusing me of foul things. And you are so queer in your moods. One minute you're kind, the other you're scaring me to death! You are incredibly hard to get along with! And yet I do not hate you… But if you were to read these letters, letters that are so dear to me, I _would_ hate you. I would hate you forever for you would show me you do not truly respect me. After that, I could _never_ respect you. Yes, I would _truly_ hate you."

After I said this I stood quiet and he did so, too. Eventually he leaned down to grab the paper that had fallen on the floor. His eyes merely glanced at it and he miraculously handed it back to me.

"Here, take it. Erik does not wish you to hate him. I shall never read them," he said.

He left the room before I could say another word. I only stood there perplexed at what he had said with my hand grasping the paper. I couldn't help but stare at the dark red stain on the carpet.

Before a minute had passed, Erik returned only to bring me a bottle of black ink and requested I write the letter to my Mama before nightfall. He would deliver it tomorrow, he promised. I even felt tempted to say goodnight to him but he left before the words would escape my lips.

What an odd situation I'm living in, Raoul. I hardly know what to think anymore. He gets stranger every day! How can a person be evil one moment and be kind and understanding the next? It's a true paradox! He must be truly insane, then! But who am I to say for I'm slowly going mad.

After all, I only keep writing to you for my sanity. The little sanity I have left, that is.

Christine


End file.
